


Same Song, Different Verse

by BrighteyedJill



Category: Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Crossover, Demons, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2168154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Steve Rogers and his fellow hunters go to get help from the secret society that created Steve-- the Men of Letters--they don't exactly find what they're looking for. But they may have found some answers about an enemy they haven't been able to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Same Song, Different Verse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ottra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ottra/gifts).



“You’re sure this is it?” Natasha asked as they approached the door built into the side of a hill below an abandoned factory. “We’re not going to walk in on some survivalist nutjob?” 

“I may be old, but I don’t have amnesia.” Steve gave their surroundings a slow survey. They looked remarkably similar to the way he remembered them.

“And yet you don’t remember the last 70 years. Let’s see if the key fits.” Tony pulled the ornate case from his pocket and opened it to reveal a large, brass key. It slid into the lock with a satisfying click. “Bingo.”

The door swung open on a dark void. Natasha adjusted her grip on her Glock, but Steve strode right in, ignoring Tony’s warning hiss. Lights snapped on, illuminating the balcony where he stood, then clicking on down the line, spilling light into the rest of the facility in an orderly progression. 

Natasha squeezed past Steve and put her back to the wall to take stock of the place. “Big,” she concluded. 

“It doesn’t look much different.” Steve couldn’t help but smile. With the way everything else he knew had changed in his absence, he appreciated being in more familiar surroundings. He ventured down the stairs onto the main level. 

“No joke. It’s like an episode of Ghost Facers: Mad Men edition in here.” Tony touched a hand to the wrought-iron railing before moving to squint at some dusty-looking electronic equipment. Natasha followed, gun at the ready. “Do they not believe in upgrades?”

“I like it. It’s just the way I remember it.” Steve frowned at a laptop on the table. “Mostly.”

Tony appeared at his shoulder and flipped open the laptop. The browser had been left open on BustyAsianBeauties.com. “Nice.”

“Glad you approve.” A tall man in boxers and a t-shirt stood in the doorway at the far end of the room, pointing a shotgun. He nodded towards Natasha. “Put down the gun, sweetheart.”

“Put down yours, buddy,” Natasha said with a dangerously bright smile. 

“We didn’t come here to fight.” Steve held up his hands in a placating gesture. The man, though he clearly knew how to handle a firearm, didn’t look like a soldier. For that matter, he didn’t look much like any of the Men of Letters Steve remembered. “Are you one of the Order?”

“Not really.” The man’s eyes flicked up to the open door on the balcony before returning to Steve. “How’d you get in here?”

Tony held up the box with the Aquarian Star carved into the lid. “The proper equipment.”

“Steve,” Natasha said warningly. She drew a second weapon to point at another man who had come up behind them, aiming a handgun from the room’s other entrance. He wore a baggy hoody, and the idle thought crossed Steve’s mind that he could really use a haircut. 

“This is all a misunderstanding.” Steve backed up a slow step, putting himself in a better position to charge either opponent if things got ugly. “We’re not here to hurt anyone. We’re looking for the Men of Letters.”

“Then you’re about fifty years too late, pal.”

“Is that a phantasma-seismic map?” Tony leaned over to examine the table that displayed a map of the world. “We had one of these in the garage when I was growing up.”

“Get away from that,” the shaggy-haired one snapped.

“Sam, they stole the key.”

“Why steal when you can buy?” Tony grinned.

“Or inherit,” Natasha muttered.

“We didn’t steal anything.” Steve raised his hands higher to draw their attention back to him. Though, he thought, a prudent man wouldn’t take his attention off Natasha when she had a gun in her hand. “We came here to find information. What do you mean fifty years too late?”

“Put down your weapons.”

“Not gonna happen, champ,” Natasha said.

“It’s alright, Dean.” A third man appeared behind the first guy, this one wrapped in a terrycloth robe, eyes bleary as if he’d just woken up. “They’re not Crowley’s people.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re welcome.”

“I know you.” The newcomer squinted at Steve. In a sound like fluttering wings, the man abruptly disappeared and reappeared inches from Steve’s face.

Natasha pivoted neatly to train both weapons on him. 

Steve concentrated on staying still and alert, knowing that any move at this point might turn the standoff into a firefight. 

“The archive footage?” Sam asked.

“He’s in the film reels,” the man replied. “I watch it when you’re asleep. I learned to make popcorn.” He turned to look over his shoulder. “Dean, he worked for the Order.”

“Doesn’t explain why you’re here now.” Dean edged further into the room, probably looking for a clear shot past his fast-moving friend.

“If everyone would just put down their weapons, I’m happy to explain,” Steve said.

The bathrobe-clad man turned and looked at the other man—Dean, presumably—until he lowered his weapon. “Fine. Explain.”  
\--

**Two Days Ago**

_Dean ducked behind a tree and swore. “This guy just keeps coming.”_

_Castiel appeared behind him, angel blade in hand, breathing hard. “I believe we’re not dealing with a normal demon.”_

_“No shit, Cas. Can’t you do something?”_

_Castiel frowned. “What do you suggest?”_

_“Napalm? I don’t know!”_

_Two shots sounded in quick succession, and then Sam bolted past them, heading for the road. “Let’s_ go! _”_

_Sam already had the Impala started up when Dean and Castiel dove inside. He didn’t wait for the door to close before pealing out._

_“So, I take it the spell didn’t stop him?” Dean asked._

_Sam shook his head. “Didn’t even slow him down.”_

_“These are not the actions of a demon on a random killing spree,” Castiel said with solemn thoughtfulness._

_“You think Crowley sent him,” Dean said._

_“Someone certainly did.”_

_“He’s not going to stop.” Sam said. “We have to go someplace safe. Lay low for a while.” He pushed down the gas pedal, sending them speeding back towards Kansas._  
\--

The whir of the film projector was the only sound to accompany the black and white film. Steve had seen the footage before, but he still flinched at his screams when the chamber activated, pumping him full of chemicals and spells. 

“So,” Dean said. “You’re some kind of magic super soldier.”

“The Men of Letters needed a weapon a fight the Nazis,” Steve explained. “To counter not just regular threats, but problems regular soldiers weren’t equipped to handle.”

Castiel offered his bowl of popcorn to Natasha, who took a generous handful. On the screen, Dr. Erksine narrated silently to a Letters elder.

“I’ve seen Erksine mentioned in the archives before,” Sam said. “He led a research team or something.”

“Right.” Steve pointed to his old friend, looking young and dashing with his mustache. “And that’s Howard Stark.”

“Yeah.” Tony slumped deeper into his chair. “I’ll bet a hundred bucks he built your fancy light-up map out there, and probably anything else that still works in this dump.” 

“Wait, so, this is all World War II crap. That dude looks exactly like you.” Dean pointed to the bare-chested man stepping out of the chamber. “So, are we talking time-travel, reincarnation, possession, what?”

“It’s a long story,” Steve said. When Sam, Dean and Castiel kept looking at him, he sighed. “The procedure gave me accelerated healing. The working theory is that it slowed down the aging process. There was also an incident with some ice.”

“Yeah, all this exposition is really fascinating,” Tony broke in. “But the clock is ticking, and we do have a seemingly unstoppable demon trailing us.”

“Why come here?” Sam asked.

“We were hoping there’d be something in the archives that would help us understand how to exorcise a—“

“Ehem.” Natasha cleared her throat loudly.

“A demon of this kind,” Steve finished lamely. 

“Doesn’t explain where you got the key,” Dean pointed out.

“You know, you haven’t told us why you’re here,” Tony said. He took a swig of the cheap beer the Winchesters had provided, and pushed to his feet. “You’re clearly not Men of Letters yourselves.”

“How do you know?” Dean stood up to face him.

“You’re wearing a Black Sabbath t-shirt.” Tony jabbed a finger at Dean’s chest.

Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What’s wrong with Black Sabbath?”

“Nothing, actually,” Tony said with a shrug. “Paranoid is one of the best albums ever released. But boring academics don’t listen to mullet rock.”

“Didn’t your father—“

“Not now, Natasha,” Tony said quickly.

“His father was a Man of Letters?” Castiel offered the popcorn bowl again.

Natasha nodded towards the screen, where demons had begun to attack the lab. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Can we talk about these guys, instead?” Tony waved a hand to encompass the Winchesters and Castiel. “Are you squatters, housesitters, cabana boys, what?”

“Hunters,” said Natasha. “Just look at them.”

“Okay,” Steve said slowly. “You see, that’s what I don’t understand. The Men of Letters didn’t really have much respect for hunters.”

“No joke. But they’re all dead, and we’re here, so…” Dean shrugged. “Guess the joke’s on them.”

Steve must not have done a very good job of hiding his expression of dismay, because Sam hurried to interject a question. “What did you come here to find?” 

“We ran into a special kind of demon,” Natasha said. “We need it dead.”

“Not dead,” Steve said quickly. “Exorcised. We don’t want to kill the host.”

“What kind of special demon?” Dean asked. When he was greeted with silence, he dropped back into his chair and folded his arms. “We can’t help you if you don’t play straight with us.”

Steve gave Natasha a meaningful look. She said, “You’ve probably never heard of them. We were hoping then Men of Letters had. Very powerful. Smart. Can’t be killed with your typical ancient demon-killing knife.”

“A knight of hell,” Castiel said.

Natasha’s attention snapped to him, and she pressed her lips together tightly. “Maybe.”

“A knight of hell. Abbadon’s cut up into puppy chow and buried in concrete,” Dean said. “You’re saying there’s another one? Who?”

Steve bit back his own response. He wasn’t certain his friends believed what he’d figured out about the demon’s identity; these strangers didn’t need to know.

“He didn’t exactly introduce himself,” Natasha said smoothly.

“Wait… Longish hair, wearing creepy glasses and a mask?” Sam asked.

“Yes.” Steve’s heard pounded faster in his chest. These men might have information he could use. “Have you seen him?”

“Yeah, we had a run-in.” Sam glanced at Dean. “You think you’re gonna take this guy down without shedding blood?”

“We have to,” Steve said.

“We’re gonna need something more than firepower, then,” Dean said. “If you’ve run into this guy, you know standard methods don’t do squat.”

“We’ve got a few tricks.” Natasha caught a piece of popcorn between her teeth and crunched it.

“Yeah?” A grin spread over Dean’s face. “Can we get a demonstrations?”

“You sure you want a demonstration?” Natasha rubbed a hand down the gun in her thigh holster in a way that made Steve blush.

“Look, can we just pool our resources?” Steve asked.

“Come on.” Sam set down his beer and headed for the door. “I’ll show you what we’ve been working on.”

Natasha followed Sam, and Dean followed Natasha.

“I’m going to check out the Enigma Machine out there.” Tony gestured towards the room they’d passed with a computer that looked pretty advanced to Steve. “See if there’s something we can use.” He wandered out of the room, fiddling with his phone. 

Castiel shut off the film projector and flipped on the room’s fluorescent lights. Then he sat down in the chair beside Steve and just looked at him. Steve had seen that intense, haunted look before on soldiers who’d seen more on the battlefield than any man should. “Steve. Your friend. It’s likely that whatever this demon has been doing with his body over the years has already killed him. Even in the event that we succeed in exorcizing the demon, it’s likely that your friend will die.”

“I know that.” It was all Steve had thought about since he’d recognized his friend behind those black, blank eyes. “I do. I’ve thought he was dead for a long time. But knowing that he’s this, instead, it’s not right. I just want him to have a moment of knowing he’s free. He deserves that.”

“I should tell you, we believe he was sent here to eliminate Sam and Dean.”

“We’ll keep them safe.” Steve reached out to lay a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “I won’t let anything happen to your friends.”

“And I won’t let anything happen to yours.”  
\--

**Yesterday**

_“I feel the need to repeat that I object to this course of action,” Castiel said. He’d pulled a chair over to the corner of the basement of this abandoned house, as far as possible from the table Dean had set up._

_“Noted.” Dean lit the match to complete the summoning spell, dropped it into the bowl, and looked up to see Crowley grinning at him from the other end of the empty room._

_“Boys.” Crowley spread his arms in greeting. “You never call. You never write. I was starting to think you didn’t love me anymore.”_

_“Is that why you sent a demon assassin after us?” Sam asked._

_Crowley just raised an eyebrow._

_“Greasy hair, too much eye make-up, weird robot arm?” Dean explained._

_Crowley let out a short, sharp laugh. “Oh, him!”_

_Sam took a step forward, with the look in his eye Dean knew meant his temper was fraying. “Call off your dog, Crowley.”_

_“He’s not one of mine, Moose.”_

_“Yeah?” Dean stepped up beside his brother. “Why should we believe you?”_

_“I’ll give you this one for free, since we’re such good friends.” Crowley grinned at them. “And because it sounds like I won’t have the pleasure of your company for much longer.”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asked._

_“They call him the Winter Demon.”_

_Dean snorted. “Sounds like a professional wrestler from Canada.”_

_“He’s a ghost. Half of hell doesn’t even believe he exists.” Crowley slipped his hands into his pockets. “Been discretely taking care of pesky little problems for years. But he’s not right in the head.”_

_“I believe you’re not the best judge of sanity,” Castiel said from his place in the corner._

_“Are you, Castiel?” Crowley prowled closer, fixing Castiel with a thin smile. “He works for a group of preceptors. Paper-pushers. Trumped-up evil librarians, I’d call them.”_

_“Humans?” Sam asked._

_“They’re the worst.”_

_“A demon working for humans.” Dean frowned._

_“Sad, I know, but these things happen sometimes. Powerful beings working with incompetent allies with abilities far beneath their own.” Crowley bared his teeth at Castiel in a delighted grin. “You know how it is.”_

_“So where do we find the employers?” Dean asked. “The evil librarians?”_

_“You don’t.” Crowley shook his head slowly. “They find you, they kill you, everyone goes home happy.”_

_“If you’re not going to help us, why are we having this conversation?” Sam snapped._

_“I don’t know, why?” Between one blink and the next, Crowley disappeared._

_“Well that was a waste of time.” Dean grabbed the duffel bag and started tossing the spell equipment inside._

_“Not necessarily.” Castiel came out of his corner to stand next o Dean. “We know that this demon is not operating under his own power. If there’s some way to break the link that’s controlling him, we may be able to divert him from whatever mission he’s been assigned.”_

_“So then, instead of a focused killing machine, we’d have an independent killing machine?” Sam asked._

_“If what Crowley says is true—“_

_“Which there’s no way it is,” Dean felt the need to remind everyone._

_“Then he’ll keep coming until we’re dead,” Sam finished._

_“So at least if it’s not in Terminator mode, we might buy some time to figure out how to kill it,” Dean said slowly._

_“Exactly.”_

_“Alright, genius.” Dean shoved the full duffel at Sam. “Any ideas on how to rehabilitate a brainwashed demon?”_  
\--

Dean averted his eyes from the road for a moment to glance in the rearview mirror. From the backseat of the Impala, Natasha watched him with a look of doubtful incredulity. 

“You got your information from Crowley?” she asked. “The King of Hell.”

“You know him?” Sam asked.

“We’re acquainted.” She suddenly found the passing landscape riveting. “Besides, ‘The Winter Demon’ sounds like the title of a young adult dystopian novel.”

“We know he’s after us,” Dean said. “He recognized Sam and tried to rip his head off.”

“It’s only a matter of time before he tries again,” Sam said. 

Natasha met Dean’s eyes again in the rearview mirror. “So putting yourself out in the open as nice juicy targets was Crowley’s suggestion?”

“Of course not,” Dean snapped.

“Listen,” Sam broke in. “It doesn’t matter whether he gave us good intel or not. We still gotta find this guy and get rid of him, sooner rather than later.”

“Why is Tony slowing down?” Natasha leaned over the seat to look out the windshield at the car they were following. “He never goes less than twenty over the speed limit unless—“

Dean looked ahead to the taillights of Tony’s lovingly maintained ’65 Cobra, and slammed on the breaks. “Hold on!” He swerved in time to prevent running into the back of the Cobra, which had come to an abrupt halt in the middle of the road.

As Dean swung the Impala onto the shoulder of the highway, he looked back to see a black-clad figure with its arm braced against the crumpled hood, as if it had stopped the car by itself. 

“Weapons,” Dean snapped. He snatched his shotgun and got out in time to see the Winter Demon ripping the passenger door off the Cobra as easily as tearing paper.

Steve jumped out, shield in hand, and started landing blows.

Tony stumbled out of the driver’s side, bleeding and a bit dazed, but still clutching the bag of equipment he’d brought from the bunker. Totally sensibly, in Dean’s opinion, he stumbled for the trees.

“Cas, cover him!” Dean leveled his shotgun at the demon, looking for a clear shot. “Get set up in the trees!” With a flutter of wings, Castiel disappeared.

The Winter Demon struck a blow that sent Steve to the ground, so Dean leveled his shotgun and fired. Preternaturally fast, Steve was back up, raising that damn shield to deflect the shot. 

“Don’t kill him!”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean snapped. The demon had taken advantage of Steve’s distraction to grab him by the throat and pin him to the ground.

“Mind your eyes,” Natasha snapped. Then she jumped onto the road and shouted, “Hey!” Her flash grenade sent the demon covering his eyes. Dean and Sam took the opportunity to bolt around the vehicle and retreat into the trees, where Castiel and Tony waited. Natasha followed, dragging a half-blinded Steve.

Dean dropped to the ground behind the tree where Tony crouched, and he saw Sam settle by Castiel, gun at the ready.

“Hold on,” Tony warned. “Wait until he gets closer.”

The demon barreled after the Winchesters, following the same path they’d taken, until he crossed the line Tony and Cas held. 

“Now!” Tony shouted.

The forest floor lit up in glowing fire as holy oil caught flame in the outline of a devil’s trap: a superpowered edition to hold a superpowered demon. 

The demon snarled in outrage as it charged the edge of the circle and was forced back. 

“Damn,” Sam said, taking in the sight of the enhanced trap. “That’s handy.”

“It won’t hold indefinitely,” Castiel warned. “The holy power in the oil can only burn so long against the strength of infernal resistance.”

“So let’s end this son of a bitch before we run out of time.” Dean loaded the specially carved devil’s-trapped bullet into his gun, and Sam pulled a machete from his belt.

“No.” Steve stepped past them, to the edge of the circle. “Let me talk to him.”

“Talk to him?” Dean threw an incredulous look at Castiel, who shook his head.

“I know it’s you. I know you’re in there somewhere.” Steve stowed his shield on his back, then held his hands up to show he was unarmed. The Winter Demon just narrowed his eyes. “And you know me, too.”

“No I don’t!” The demon threw himself at the edge of the circle, and fire flared up, sending him stumbling back.

“Wait.” Natasha stepped away from the devil’s trap to scan the surrounding trees. “Something’s wrong. Why’s it so quiet?”

“Look out!” Castiel shouted.

Dean turned to see at least a dozen figures running towards them through the gathering twilight, dodging trees. He raised his shotgun and glanced back over his shoulder to shout, “Steve! Waste him and let’s get out of here!”

Then demons flooded into the clearing. Dean blew a solid hole in the first one to come within range, and around him, he heard the sounds of other fighting as the others faced off against pissed off, black-eyed party crashers.

“Rogers!” he heard Natasha shout.

Dean jabbed his knife further into the current demon he was facing, waited just long enough to see it light up from within as it died, then turned to see what the screaming was about. 

An injured demon rolled into the flames, cursing and howling, and putting out a section of the fire. “Oh shit,” Dean muttered.

The Winter Demon rushed out of his prison and disappeared into the trees with Steve in pursuit. Then Dean had no more attention to spare for that idiot, because he had his own demons to put down.

Then the demon he’d been itching to stab stepped back out of his reach. All the demons stopped and backed up a few steps, forming a rough circle as Crowley himself appeared at the edge of the clearing, smiling like he’d kicked a puppy. His eyes cut to Natasha, who held her gun at her side, white-knuckled.

“Hello darling,” Crowley purred. “It’s been an age.”

“Not long enough,” she said softly.

“Hey, jackass,” Dean called. “You lied to us. That demon isn’t working for evil librarians, he’s working for you.”

“Dean, would I lie to you?” Crowley spread his hands and put on a hurt look.

“In a heartbeat.”

“Yes, usually. But this is strictly business.” Crowley straightened his tie. “I want you dead. And I’d like to acquire a pet knight of my own. Where is he?”

“Tony, hurry up with that thing,” Sam whispered from somewhere behind Dean.

In hushed tones came an answering, “You cannot rush genius!”

“He split.” Dean gestured to the remnants of the circle of fire. “Broke the devil’s trap and ran.”

“Not likely. If he was contracted to kill you two nitwits, he’ll keep coming until the job is done.”

Dean shrugged. “Looks like he got distracted. Guess you’ll have to settle for getting your ass kicked by us.”

Crowley did not look pleased. “I don’t settle.”  
\--

Steve jumped over a fallen tree trunk and landed hard, only to hear the sound of a bullet impacting flesh. He fell backwards before he felt the pain burst through his system. Clutching a hand to his bleeding side, he threw himself sideways, behind a boulder. 

He stopped just long enough to pull the shield off his back before he heaved to his feet and took off after Bucky. The demon wasn’t expecting the charge, so he went down under Steve’s rush. 

Steve twisted an arm up behind the demon’s back in an effort to keep him down. “Bucky, I know you can hear me.”

“Get off.” The demon struggled furiously, but Steve managed to hold on. The runes molded into Steve’s uniform gloves glowed where they contacted the demon’s skin, eliciting an angry hiss.

“You’ve known me your whole life, Bucky.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Shut up!” The demon wrenched his metal arm free and slammed his elbow back into the wound on Steve’s side, knocking him backwards. Steve rolled, and the demon tried to tackle him, sending them dangerously close to the edge of a cliff at the tree line. Steve heard loose rocks and sticks skid off the side and hit the water far below. With a vicious punch, the demon sent Steve reeling.

Steve planted his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain of the bullet wound, and raised up his shield. The Aquarian star in the center glowed with the power of ancient spells, the kind that had helped Steve defeat more demons than he could count over the years. 

This demon, the one inside his friend, flinched back from the shield, shaking his head as if he’d been stunned. He stood staring at the star, fists clenched at his sides, shaking. 

Slowly, Steve lowered his shield to his side and there open, unresisting. “I’m not going to fight you. You’re my friend.”

The demon squared his shoulders and wrenched his eyes away from Steve’s shield to stare at him with black, hateful eyes. “You’re my mission.” He tackled Steve and struck him in the face, sending pain roaring through Steve’s head, blurring his vision. The blows kept landing, over and over, until the taste of blood seemed like the only thing in Steve’s world. But he could still see his friend, eyes wide and wild. The demon pulled his fist back again, and then paused, looking down at his unresisting victim.

“Then finish it,” Steve said. He’d made his best friend a promise, years ago, and he intended to keep it. “Because I’m with you until the end of the line.”  
\--

Dean hit a demon in the chin with the butt of his shotgun, and turned to see Natasha feinting towards another demon while Cas got into position to lay his hands on the bastard. He was charging over to help Sam where a demon had him pinned to a tree when he heard Tony yell, “Fire in the hole!”

Dean glanced across the clearing in time to see Tony slam a stone disk onto the ground, triggering a flash of bright blue light and an ear-splitting high-pitched whine. Dean could hear Castiel shouting something. He couldn’t tell which direction was up, or how long the noise went on. 

All at once the light vanished and the sound stopped dead, leaving Dean’s ear’s ringing. Crowley’s demons all lay on the ground; some of the bodies moving feebly as their owners came back into possession of their flesh. 

The king of hell himself looked a bit singed. He backed away slowly, with one eye on the stone disk, which was still glowing faintly blue. “Nice new toy you’ve got there.” He sneered at Dean. “Too advanced for you two cretins. So who do I have to thank? Your little prophet?”

“No, Stark Industries.” Tony stood up and brushed the forest dirt off his t-shirt. “Patent pending.”

“Well. This has been… educational. I’ll be seeing you around.” With one final glare at the Winchesters, Crowley disappeared.

Sam came to stand over the glowing stone. “I can’t believe that worked.” 

“Of course it worked,” Tony said. “I made it.”

“I don’t see the Knight of Hell.” Castiel took a slow survey of the clearing. “Could he have gone with Crowley?”

Natasha wiped a bloody knife on her torn sleeve, then sheathed it, and looked up sharply. “Where’s Rogers?”  
\--

Steve gasped when he hit the frigid water. For a moment he floundered, not knowing which was way up. At last, his head broke the surface, and he gulped in air. In the deepening twilight, he didn’t see anything else moving on the surface of the lake.

Heaving in one deep breath, he dove back under, stretching down and down until his hand grasped cold metal. He pulled, ignoring the ripping pain of the bullet still inside him. The shore felt miles away, though they couldn’t have gone more than twenty yards before Steve dragged Bucky up onto the grassy shore. His eyes were closed, his body still. 

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s chest and lowered his head to listen. Beside him, he heard a fluttering sound, like wings, and looked up to see Castiel. “He’s not breathing,” he reported.

Castiel planted a hand on top of Steve’s where it rested on Bucky’s chest. A strange white light enveloped Bucky. It felt warm against Steve’s skin, but it didn’t burn. 

Then Bucky gasped. His eyes snapped open: not solid black, but clear blue. He bolted upright, then stumbled to his feet, eyes fixed on Steve. 

“Bucky.” Steve reached out a hand. 

Bucky stared at him, breath heaving in his chest, fingers on his mechanical hand clenching and unclenching. Then he turned and fled into the woods. 

“Wait!” Steve jumped up to follow, but Castiel caught him by the arm. Surprisingly, he was strong enough to hold him. 

“No, Steve. Sometimes a man needs time to understand what he’s done, and what he’s become.” From the look in Castiel’s eyes, he understood some of the struggle Bucky had ahead of him.  
\--

“So this is yours?” Dean asked, eyeing the custom Harley-Davidson with a white star painted on the side. 

“That’s my baby, yeah.” Steve patted the handlebars, as if happy to be reunited with an old friend. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

“Didn’t even know this place was up here.” Dean glanced around the garage, his fingers itching to get his hands on any of the totally sweet vintage cars here.

“The Men of Letters had a lot of secrets,” Steve offered. “But I think they’re in good hands.”

“You sure you can’t stick around for a while?” Sam asked, turning to Tony. “If you’re got more ideas like that exorcism bomb, I’d love to hear them.”

“Sorry kid. Proprietary technology.” Tony winked, which Dean had to admit he was somehow totally able to pull off.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Castiel said, extending a hand to Natasha. 

“Our pleasure.” Natasha shook the offered hand, which was more physical contact than Dean had ever seen her make with someone she wasn’t trying to kill. “Stay out of trouble, Cas.”

With their new friends gone, Dean was looking forward to having the bunker to himself again. But this visit had gotten him thinking. As they watched the motorcycle and the newly repaired Cobra drive off into the sunset, Dean said, “So, if that dude’s transformation was in the Letters’ archives, what other stuff do you think is in there?”

“Movie night?” Sam asked.

“Movie night.”

Castiel nodded. “I will make the popcorn.”


End file.
